Not a Damsel 2b
anonymous
January 22 2011, 16:45:59 UTC
The assistant director just smiled. “I was thinking people wanted to see a little more red, da? And I have not seen Matthew Williams for a few days so it is my decision to make…and I do not like that wall there.”
“Well we have to have that wall there. The studio said so. It acts as a noise buffer to the place next door.” Alfred pulled out another cigarette, but did nothing but keep it between his lips. “You may push Matthew around, but I’d like to see you calling ones on the big shots. ‘Sides, moving that wall would make us at least two days behind in production!”
Ivan folded his hands and leaned back in his chair, looking away from Alfred in a sign of dismissal. “Then I suppose you should get working on it. And don’t worry about what anyone else will say. I want that wall moved.”
Alfred stared at the burly man for all of two seconds before mouthing a cuss and storming out of the room. He gummed his cigarette furiously in agitation and headed back to the main stage to announce that they would have to be moving a huge freaking wall because someone was being a prickly ass about it.
Alfred rubbed at his brow as he walked. He hated Thursdays.
Arthur was clacking away on his typewriter, hitting the return carriage lever with a ring. He frowned as he saw two persons drape themselves over the edge of his desk. Green eyes darted up, assessing the two men before he returned to typing with a deeper set frown. “And what exactly do you two want?”
Antonio Fernandez, a reporter who mainly covered the social beat, pressed his cheek into his palm while looking bored. “Well you have yet to tell us who you agree with.”
Francis, blond hair slipping over his cheek as he looked down to where Arthur was sitting, drummed his fingers against the wood. Arthur looked away from his typewriter just long enough to swat the Frenchman’s hands away. “I don’t have to agree with either of you two idiots.”
“Well, Arthur, you actually do since there are only two options.” He ticked off one lithe finger, standing up straight. “One. You agree with Antonio that all of these crimes- petty or not this month- are connected. Two.” At this Francis brushed his hair back. “You agree with me that they are not. See? Only two options.”
“Or three. You are both idiots and should sod off.” Arthur finished the typed sentence and leaned back in his chair.
“So mean,” Francis muttered and folded his arms against his chest. His ocean blue eyes swept over the desktop and glanced up at the Englishman. “So what do you think?”
Arthur rolled the paper down to start a new paragraph. He stopped, taking a red pen from his drawer and uncapped it. Humming a bar of some insipid tune Alfred had been singing early last night, something about rainbows and birds or such, the Englishman frowned in thought. “I think that the most of it is related. Have you looked at the items? Quite the recipe for a bomb. That and Elizabeta has popped up again.”
The phone rang at the desk next to them suddenly and all three jumped. Antonio was the first to recover. “Oh. I always liked her…even if bad things happen every time she comes around.”
“You only say that because she left you stripped naked in a hotel room and paid off the staff so they didn’t find you for three days,” Arthur muttered and began to scratch down some notes on a piece of scrap paper. “I like her- she always has tips for leads.”
“Oui. But she is usually the one behind it,” Francis reminded him. He pulled out a pocket watch, glancing at the time.
Arthur hummed and stood up, pulling a notepad into his pocket. “Well gentlemen. I do have a meeting.” Pushing the chair in, he grabbed his hat. “I’ll tell Ms. Hedervary you miss her so.” The Englishman smiled when he saw Antonio shudder.
Not a Damsel 2c
anonymous
January 22 2011, 16:47:51 UTC
Arthur stared at the two papers in front of him as he sat in the shadowy corner of a seedy bar. One was a yellowed torn up piece of paper that listed all the items that had disappeared this month. The other was a check. A very large check.
“And just what is this, my dear?” Arthur asked, looking up and across the table to where a beautiful Hungarian woman sat, her green eyes low and seductive while her lips twitched with a laugh.
Elizabeta tilted her head and took a sip of wine, crossing her legs. After lighting a cigarette between her red lips, she puffed out a stream of the silky grey smoke and pointed at Arthur. “I want to give you a chance. I do like you Arthur; you’re the only man I’ve met who can out drink me. “
“A chance for what? Arthur asked curiously, malachite eyes narrowing dangerously.
She pointed with the cigarette perched between her fingers. “That note is all the tings I’ve been help acquiring.”
“You have?” Arthur couldn’t help the incredulity in his voice. “And why would you be stealing all of this?” He leaned forward, folding his arms on the table.
“Oh, dear. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” She pouted and began to trace the edge of her wine glass. “And where would the fun be in that? Besides, it’s not my own job.”
“So then what is the check?”
“Back off this story and put your nose elsewhere.” Elizabeta re-crossed her legs. “And you will be rewarded.”
Arthur fell silent, listening to the ice in his glass of bourbon melt and clink together. Elizabeta was still tracing the wine glass, making the glass sing loudly. She stopped and then tapped the table, looking interested when Arthur leaned back in his chair. “And what happens if I don’t?”
She grinned and leaned forward. “Then something you wont like will happen. Take the money, everything keeps going on like it was before. Don’t, and I’ll open Pandora’s box.” She clasped Arthur hand for a moment, gaze serious. “Be smart. Take the money.”
Arthur frowned and stood up, hands in his jacket pocket. “I can’t. Besides, the way you work it’s probably stolen money. Keep it.”
Elizabeta, did not move, only sipped the last of her wine while looking out of the window. “Why are men always so idiotic?” She turned her gaze back onto Arthur. Standing up and grinding the cigarette into the ashtray, she started walking out of the small seedy bar. “Then you best keep the other paper. Might help.”
Arthur took the small yellow paper, flipped it over and saw it was an address. He looked up, about to demand just what this was, but found that Elizabeta had disappeared, blending into the crowd outside.
Not a Damsel 2d/d
anonymous
January 22 2011, 16:51:10 UTC
Alfred was sitting at his impromptu desk, feet up on the edge of the wood as he looked over the set design he was going to be working on tomorrow. The western he was excited for. Looking at a few pictures of a saloon he was supposed to replicate somewhat, he blue eyed man heard a knock at the door. He look up startled, blue eyes wide and then glanced at his watch. Shit. He was going to be late for dinner if he didn’t start getting on his way.
He glanced over the rim of his glasses at the man at his door. It was the white haired man he had seen earlier. Alfred began gathering his papers together. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“Yeah, Actually you can. There’s a problem with part of the set being taken down. I was told you would be the one to call.” The red eyed man looked agitated, as though he wanted to be doing something else.
“Can it wait until tomorrow?” Alfred muttered, snapping a case closed and putting it into a drawer.
“I think it would be best if you came now.” With a sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck, Alfred nodded. “Alright. Let’s make this quick and stop the meltdown.” He flicked off the lights as he left the room, following the unknown worker. As he shut the office door, jacket in one arm and fedora on his head, Alfred looked towards the worker. “So what’s your name?”
“The awesome Gilbert.”
Alfred raised his brow, smiling a bit. “Self imposed title?” Drat. If he didn’t get home quickly Arthur would start cooking. Maybe If Arthur had had a bad day he could lure him into going out to eat. As he followed Gilbert, he began to check his pockets to make sure he had the sketch he had been working on earlier. When Gilbert continued to lead him towards the stage, Alfred cocked his head to the side. “So what exactly is the problem?” The stage was darker thanks to almost everyone heading home about now.
“Oh, it’s over here…looks like an odd crack.”
“Oh really? That’s strange. Toris’ work is always ace.”
Gilbert shrugged and pointed over at the far corner. “See?”
“No. Might be my eyesight though. You said it was a crack, right? How bad?”
“Well, not as bad as the crack I’m going to put in your head.”
“What?” Alfred turned around to see a red pipe wrench come swinging towards his head.
Oh, cliffie. :D How I simultaneously love and hate them. You had me lulled into a false sense of security there; I thought Arthur would be the one to be kidnapped. Loving Elizabeta as a femme fatale, as well.
Re: Not a Damsel 2d/d
anonymous
January 24 2011, 06:09:32 UTC
I know next to nothing about the 50s or the Superman comics, and have only the vaguest idea about film noir but I so love the setting and atmosphere you created. I have to admit that when I read saw the fedora and everyone smoking, I kept thinking about the 1920s instead. :]
Anyway, I can't wait to see how Arthur is going to rescue Alfred.
The assistant director just smiled. “I was thinking people wanted to see a little more red, da? And I have not seen Matthew Williams for a few days so it is my decision to make…and I do not like that wall there.”
“Well we have to have that wall there. The studio said so. It acts as a noise buffer to the place next door.” Alfred pulled out another cigarette, but did nothing but keep it between his lips. “You may push Matthew around, but I’d like to see you calling ones on the big shots. ‘Sides, moving that wall would make us at least two days behind in production!”
Ivan folded his hands and leaned back in his chair, looking away from Alfred in a sign of dismissal. “Then I suppose you should get working on it. And don’t worry about what anyone else will say. I want that wall moved.”
Alfred stared at the burly man for all of two seconds before mouthing a cuss and storming out of the room. He gummed his cigarette furiously in agitation and headed back to the main stage to announce that they would have to be moving a huge freaking wall because someone was being a prickly ass about it.
Alfred rubbed at his brow as he walked. He hated Thursdays.
Arthur was clacking away on his typewriter, hitting the return carriage lever with a ring. He frowned as he saw two persons drape themselves over the edge of his desk. Green eyes darted up, assessing the two men before he returned to typing with a deeper set frown. “And what exactly do you two want?”
Antonio Fernandez, a reporter who mainly covered the social beat, pressed his cheek into his palm while looking bored. “Well you have yet to tell us who you agree with.”
Francis, blond hair slipping over his cheek as he looked down to where Arthur was sitting, drummed his fingers against the wood. Arthur looked away from his typewriter just long enough to swat the Frenchman’s hands away. “I don’t have to agree with either of you two idiots.”
“Well, Arthur, you actually do since there are only two options.” He ticked off one lithe finger, standing up straight. “One. You agree with Antonio that all of these crimes- petty or not this month- are connected. Two.” At this Francis brushed his hair back. “You agree with me that they are not. See? Only two options.”
“Or three. You are both idiots and should sod off.” Arthur finished the typed sentence and leaned back in his chair.
“So mean,” Francis muttered and folded his arms against his chest. His ocean blue eyes swept over the desktop and glanced up at the Englishman. “So what do you think?”
Arthur rolled the paper down to start a new paragraph. He stopped, taking a red pen from his drawer and uncapped it. Humming a bar of some insipid tune Alfred had been singing early last night, something about rainbows and birds or such, the Englishman frowned in thought. “I think that the most of it is related. Have you looked at the items? Quite the recipe for a bomb. That and Elizabeta has popped up again.”
The phone rang at the desk next to them suddenly and all three jumped. Antonio was the first to recover. “Oh. I always liked her…even if bad things happen every time she comes around.”
“You only say that because she left you stripped naked in a hotel room and paid off the staff so they didn’t find you for three days,” Arthur muttered and began to scratch down some notes on a piece of scrap paper. “I like her- she always has tips for leads.”
“Oui. But she is usually the one behind it,” Francis reminded him. He pulled out a pocket watch, glancing at the time.
Arthur hummed and stood up, pulling a notepad into his pocket. “Well gentlemen. I do have a meeting.” Pushing the chair in, he grabbed his hat. “I’ll tell Ms. Hedervary you miss her so.” The Englishman smiled when he saw Antonio shudder.
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Arthur stared at the two papers in front of him as he sat in the shadowy corner of a seedy bar. One was a yellowed torn up piece of paper that listed all the items that had disappeared this month. The other was a check. A very large check.
“And just what is this, my dear?” Arthur asked, looking up and across the table to where a beautiful Hungarian woman sat, her green eyes low and seductive while her lips twitched with a laugh.
Elizabeta tilted her head and took a sip of wine, crossing her legs. After lighting a cigarette between her red lips, she puffed out a stream of the silky grey smoke and pointed at Arthur. “I want to give you a chance. I do like you Arthur; you’re the only man I’ve met who can out drink me. “
“A chance for what? Arthur asked curiously, malachite eyes narrowing dangerously.
She pointed with the cigarette perched between her fingers. “That note is all the tings I’ve been help acquiring.”
“You have?” Arthur couldn’t help the incredulity in his voice. “And why would you be stealing all of this?” He leaned forward, folding his arms on the table.
“Oh, dear. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” She pouted and began to trace the edge of her wine glass. “And where would the fun be in that? Besides, it’s not my own job.”
“So then what is the check?”
“Back off this story and put your nose elsewhere.” Elizabeta re-crossed her legs. “And you will be rewarded.”
Arthur fell silent, listening to the ice in his glass of bourbon melt and clink together. Elizabeta was still tracing the wine glass, making the glass sing loudly. She stopped and then tapped the table, looking interested when Arthur leaned back in his chair. “And what happens if I don’t?”
She grinned and leaned forward. “Then something you wont like will happen. Take the money, everything keeps going on like it was before. Don’t, and I’ll open Pandora’s box.” She clasped Arthur hand for a moment, gaze serious. “Be smart. Take the money.”
Arthur frowned and stood up, hands in his jacket pocket. “I can’t. Besides, the way you work it’s probably stolen money. Keep it.”
Elizabeta, did not move, only sipped the last of her wine while looking out of the window. “Why are men always so idiotic?” She turned her gaze back onto Arthur. Standing up and grinding the cigarette into the ashtray, she started walking out of the small seedy bar. “Then you best keep the other paper. Might help.”
Arthur took the small yellow paper, flipped it over and saw it was an address. He looked up, about to demand just what this was, but found that Elizabeta had disappeared, blending into the crowd outside.
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Alfred was sitting at his impromptu desk, feet up on the edge of the wood as he looked over the set design he was going to be working on tomorrow. The western he was excited for. Looking at a few pictures of a saloon he was supposed to replicate somewhat, he blue eyed man heard a knock at the door. He look up startled, blue eyes wide and then glanced at his watch. Shit. He was going to be late for dinner if he didn’t start getting on his way.
He glanced over the rim of his glasses at the man at his door. It was the white haired man he had seen earlier. Alfred began gathering his papers together. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“Yeah, Actually you can. There’s a problem with part of the set being taken down. I was told you would be the one to call.” The red eyed man looked agitated, as though he wanted to be doing something else.
“Can it wait until tomorrow?” Alfred muttered, snapping a case closed and putting it into a drawer.
“I think it would be best if you came now.”
With a sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck, Alfred nodded. “Alright. Let’s make this quick and stop the meltdown.” He flicked off the lights as he left the room, following the unknown worker. As he shut the office door, jacket in one arm and fedora on his head, Alfred looked towards the worker. “So what’s your name?”
“The awesome Gilbert.”
Alfred raised his brow, smiling a bit. “Self imposed title?” Drat. If he didn’t get home quickly Arthur would start cooking. Maybe If Arthur had had a bad day he could lure him into going out to eat. As he followed Gilbert, he began to check his pockets to make sure he had the sketch he had been working on earlier. When Gilbert continued to lead him towards the stage, Alfred cocked his head to the side. “So what exactly is the problem?” The stage was darker thanks to almost everyone heading home about now.
“Oh, it’s over here…looks like an odd crack.”
“Oh really? That’s strange. Toris’ work is always ace.”
Gilbert shrugged and pointed over at the far corner. “See?”
“No. Might be my eyesight though. You said it was a crack, right? How bad?”
“Well, not as bad as the crack I’m going to put in your head.”
“What?” Alfred turned around to see a red pipe wrench come swinging towards his head.
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Ó_Ò Is Alfred ok?!
Ò_Ó Argh, cliffhanger...
ÒoÓ Arthur, stop burning dinner and go save your beau from getting an acid bath!!
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Anyway, I can't wait to see how Arthur is going to rescue Alfred.
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